We met,

For a moment our hearts stopped,

You reminded me of songs, 

I’d sworn not to remember.

I made you think of spring, 

In the midst of autumn.

You have your walls,

I have mine.

But let me in,

Maybe there is life beyond,

This abyss we see in each other.

Maybe we’ll explore,

The dark places of our souls.

Maybe your darkness,

Is exactly the light I need.

Maybe my emptiness is the antidote,

To the deafening silence you hear.

I’m scared you’ll break me.

Maybe that is the right way.

All dead things must break,

For new things to grow.

We have unfinished stories,

That won’t be perfect endings,

To each other.

Maybe we can write a new episode,

And throw a prayer to heaven,

That it’s the pilot,

Of new things to come. 

Your hands feel too big,

Too strange, in mine. 

We won’t fit like a puzzle,

Rather like ill shaped stones.

But hold me tight, darling.

Maybe we can start a fire,

That’ll warm this winter.

And maybe this winter,

Will remind us of hope.

For one night

You have jagged scars, 

Eyes glazed with your past,

I have bruises, purple and red,

The worst more than skin deep.

I don’t know you,

I don’t want to.

You don’t know me,

You don’t have to.

Just stay a while,

Let’s sit under the stars.

The world  is young, unlike our hearts,  

We’re weary, but no matter,

In silence we’ll find companionship. 

Maybe for a night,

You can be a seller of dreams,

And I, the will ‘o the wisp.

Show me your heart, I promise,

Not to remember,

Not to hold it against you.

Maybe let the hood down,

And the car seat up,

Let’s singalong to Chainsmokers,

Perhaps talk about all things arcane.

The moon on our faces,

Starlight  in our thoughts.

For a night, let’s pretend,

That I’m a wench,

And you, a stable boy.

Or do you want to be a prince?

Or maybe just a pair of lost souls,

Stumbling into each other’s paths. 

Let’s talk battles and politics.

For a moment forget the pain.

I don’t want your story,

You won’t know mine. 

But I’ll tell you my favorite flower,

As we trace constellations in the sky.

Let’s share a smile, a laugh, a whisper,

And dream with our eyes open,

For a wee, let’s forget our demons,

Before we go our own ways,

Before we lose our own ways.

Maybe we’ll run into each other,

Maybe in the library,  

Maybe the market, 

And we’ll smile,

For a second remember,

The eternity of a single heartbeat. 

You and I, are of just this moment.

Without the bane of the past,

Or the lure of the future.

We are made of this hour,

And no more.

Take my hand,

Hold my gaze,

Steady and unflinching.

For one night,

Let’s lie on the grass,

Let it all go. 

For one night,

Let’s just be.

Monica Geller

Monica Geller was a fat girl. The world never let her forget it, she never let herself forget it. 
But sometimes a stout body comes with a stout heart. And her heart would always be bigger than her body.

The world would call her obsessive, competetive, a control freak. Well it was true, she liked control, she wanted things her way, she hated to lose. She would yell about coasters and pen caps at parties, throw plates if she lost at pictionary. She would also give the Geller cup to Ross. Monica didn’t have a collection of trophies. Ross did. Ross, to her parents, would always be the prodigal son. What was another cup, really?

Monica was used to the dark. She was used to not being noticed (or noticed for the wrong reasons), not being loved. She was used to being okay despite it all. More than okay. Monica was a fighter. For most part of her life she lived in someone else’s shadow. Because Ross would always be the prodigal son. Rachel would always be the prom queen.

Rachel would barge into her life in a wedding dress, move in without asking, refuse to wash dishes and be the first one to take Phoebe’s advice and list things she didn’t like about living with her, right before moving out. But Rachel was her best friend. You see, in high school, Rachel cared that she was popular, but never worried that Monica wasn’t. When Monica was fat, people would see Monica and think ‘fat’. Rachel would see Monica and think ‘Monica, my friend’. After Monica shed all those pounds, people would see Monica and think ‘hot’. Rachel would see Monica and think ‘Monica, my friend’. If that didn’t mean the world, what did? Cleaning a few dishes was a soothing thing anyway. 

Monica would fight tooth and nail, for a job she liked, for that candlestick, to prove that her toy house was better than Phoebe’s. But she would let Rachel take ‘Emma’ for her baby. Rachel can have Van Damm and Joey can have all the food in her fridge. Monica had the last word. That was worth something. 

Monica wanted to eat too much and not be fat. Well she shed those pounds. But give up food, she wouldn’t. If she couldn’t eat, she would cook. Food and love have lots in common. Both fill chasms. Joey  would vouch for that one. Yet even after all those lost pounds, Monica would still long for that one extra bite. She would stock her fridge with all that extra food so Joey would never have to go without that extra bite, no matter how big. If she ran out of money in the process, there was always Ross to help her. Prodigal son or not, big brothers are a blessing.

Her orderly and controlled life would always be waylaid by her misfit gang. Phoebe would bring her vivid imagination and irrefutable logic or the lack of it, Joey his fierce loyalty, Chandler his sweaty palms and wisecracks, Ross his facts and Rachel her warmth and impishness. For them, she would always have a couch to spare. They would hold her life in place.  

All her life Monica wanted love. She would be jealous of Ross, until she wasn’t.  She would date weird men, alcoholic men, men her friends adored/ hated in turns, millionaires and wine guys. We look all over the world for things that are right in front of us. Or right next door, in her case. But you see, she found love when she wasn’t looking for it. All she wanted was a night to forget her past. Well she got a night she would always remember.

Chandler would later accuse her of wanting Batman and settling for Robin. She would tell him she wanted a fantasy and he gave her something better. A reality worth living.A smiling boy once told her he would marry her  if she didn’t find someone before 40. He didn’t make her wait that long.

See, Ross  hit on Rachel. Joey  hit on Rachel. Chandler wouldn’t. Chandler knew flighty women. Chandler knew glam and oompf. Chandler wanted someone who would make him eat his greens. He had a mother who hit on his friends and a father who hit on the pool boy. Chandler wanted someone who would cook the turkey on Thanksgiving. Someone who would yell at him to be cleaner. Chandler wanted a home and Monica would always be his home. 

Monica had played second fiddle all her life. To Ross, to Rachel. Chandler would always put her first. This was a boy starved for parenting. But he would take care of Joey. She would take care of them all.

Monica would make him eat his porridge, yell at him if he put the toilet seat up. She would also get him shark porn. He found compatibility in her incompatibility. She found order in his chaos. Monica wanted to be the best. And Chandler let her. Monica wanted a wedding. He gave her a marriage.

Monica was used to not getting things on a platter.  Monica was a fighter,remember? Phoebe would have her brother’s babies. Rachel would have Emma. Monica wanted one as far back as she could remember. Chandler promised her one even before he became her world. But some promises aren’t meant to be. Yet Monica would fight. Even pretend to be a Reverend. Nothing was too much for this woman.

Monica always had it hard. But she also had Joey who taught her to love without holding back and eat like it’s the end of the world. And Phoebe. Phoebe who wore her contrasting neon colours like a badge. Who would call dibs on their house and disprove gravity. Phoebe taught her never to be ashamed of who she was. Rachel would lend her a shoulder to lean on. Rachel would hold her hand. Ross would hold both theirs. There are some things you are allowed to take for granted.
When the world told her she couldn’t be a mother, she would think of Rachel in her jammies wondering if she’s okay. Of Joey ransacking her fridge, Phoebe in white, smiling at Mike in the snow, Ross holding her hand at the hospital. And Chandler who looked to her instinctively for all things. 

So the world told her she couldn’t be a mother. Holding her twin babies, with Chandler’s arms around her, Monica Geller would smile back defiantly. Hell, she’d mothered them all.

Author’s Note : Wrote this one after reading https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirgewithoutmusic/pseuds/dirgewithoutmusic.

Was so inspired that I desperately wanted to try out this kind of writing.  Head over to the blog. I promise you won’t be disappointed. 

Love And Some More

I fell in love, 

It was winter,

And I felt warm all over.

A fire beneath the frozen lake.

I fell in love,

When I realised how sexy a pot belly is,

I fell in love,

Looking at the battle scars, 

The bad hair days,

The nails bitten to the stub.

I fell in love,

Found that not all grey eyes were dead,

Nor all the blue ones brilliant,

I fell in love,

And I saw that the strongest hands,

Need not be sinewy and ripped,

I fell in love,

With laughter that healed,

Beauty, I understood,was intangible.

I fell in love,

And learnt my load was lighter,

When I carried more than my own.

I fell in love, 

Words became redundant,

Time was measured in heartbeats,

And life in memories.

I fell in love,

Seasons changed,

With a smile and a tear.

I fell in love,

When love, was an oxymoron,

Was comforting and intoxicating,

Was familiar and rousing.

I fell in love,

Multiple times, 

With boys and men.

I fell in love,

Sometimes gently, 

Sometimes like a landslide. 

I fell in love, 

Each time a teensy bit more,

With parts of my mind,

I didn’t know existed.

And one fine day,

I looked into the mirror,

Refused to blush.

Because finally, I fell in love,

With myself. 

My flaws and wounds. 

My happily ever after,

Started then.

Will you still jump?

I see you standing on the ledge,
I see you holding a knife, poised over your vein,
I see you on the stool, rope in hand.
I see you ready to fade into the infinity,
That you came from.
I see your drooping shoulders,
The purple shadows beneath your eyes,
The silent plea in them,
The hopelessness in your stance,
I see your scars,
Your legs too weak to bear your albatross
I know what you’ve been through,
I know it’s hard,
You wouldn’t be here if you saw a way out.
What do you see?
Do you see your life run before your eyes?
Like a never ending reel?
Do you see yourself falling?
Carrying more than you can bear?
Struggling to hold it all together?
Do you see pain?
Wait,what was that?
That thin streak of dawn,
Trying to break through the unholy mist.
Look closer, Try to feel
The warmth of your father’s hand,
As he showed you the clouds.
Your mother holding you close,
As the storm ravaged the night.
That lazy afternoon when you spun the tales of wonderland,
Your little brother hanging on your every word.
You’re the most important person in his life.
Do you see her rubbing her swollen belly,
Her hair shining in the morning sun,
Carrying a part of your soul?
Do you see his dimples?
His sunburnt hands?
Do you remember the night when music bared her soul,
The moon in sync with the symphony?
A thousand stolen moments,
From a golden time,
When for a split second,
The world lay still in perfect harmony,
And you felt joy, so overwhelming in its intensity,
That it hurt.
I know these memories pain you,
Because right now you think you’ll never be happy again.
But can you look back to those times,
When you thought you’d never be sad again?
Do you want this day to be the last,
When there are so many firsts in store?
There is more than one bend to this long winding road.
There are demons waiting to steal the sunshine,
But there is also friendship and love.
Do you want to deprive the future of the privelege of knowing you?
I know you’re scared.
But where, in this oblivion you’ve chosen,
Do you see answers?
What about those that love you?
Who’d do anything to keep you alive?
Would you still want to step into the dark,
When you can light up someone else’s world?
Would you take your life,
When along with it, you’d take away,
Someone’s very reason for existence?
Don’t you see, darling?
You’re so loved.
Why are you so ready to crash and burn,
When you can shine brighter than the stars?
Would you give up on a life that still believes in you?
What do you see, when you look in the mirror?
I know.
You see a loser,
A failure,
An embarrassment,
Do you know what I see?
I see a fighter,
A warrior,
A survivor,
A phoenix,
A miracle.
I see you,
Believe me darling, when I say,
You’re enough. More than enough.
For yourself, and the world.
You, who is so ready to jump,
Why are you so scared,
To take a leap of faith?
Would you step away from the abyss,
Just long enough to grow wings,
So you can fly and not fall?
Would you turn around,
Take my hand,
And for a moment,
Just for a moment,
See yourself through my eyes?

Short stories and Shorter lines – II

She said “Never again” and kept coming back every single time.
He said, “Always” and kept walking farther away each time.
They were a mismatch, so were their words and actions.

“She’s wasting her life away”, they said. “She needs to get out of this small town.  She belongs to the world.”
She turned a deaf ear to them as she gripped the mottled hand and smiled down at the diseased face of her invalid mother.
This was her whole world.

He flew across the open skies and sailed the seven seas.
Yet he was imprisoned by the mere memory of her fleeting smile.
It was she who set him free, when she said, “I do.”

The odds were always against them. Yet they were believers. They saw the truth the world couldn’t see.
Years later, sitting on the beach, their children frolicking in the sand, her husband talked to him about soccer while his wife talked to her about politics.
Who said boys and girls can’t be best friends?

“You’re supposed to be blue!”.
“No! You’re supposed to be clothed in white!”.
“Wait this is you? You’re not even supposed to wear clothes!”
“Oh no, you shouldn’t even have a form!”
“You’re just one person?”
God looked down at their confused, disappointed faces, “You’re all a bunch of fools!”

He sat alone at the lunch table.
Watched the world that had no place for him.
He was the outsider. The misfit.
People said he doesn’t talk much.
If only they could hear the voices in his head.

“Go home babe”, he said, “Just go!”
She watched his retreating back, completely lost for words.
How would she make him understand?
Home wasn’t an address, it was a person. Him.

“It’s how the world runs, child”, said her family, “You’re a woman. Get used to it”.
It was the same drivel when she was groped in buses, propositioned on roads, cat called in gyms.
Yet the family rose in ire about ruffled dignity and insulted pride when she found love in a different caste.

They held a convention. They were all soldiers. They were fighting for the right of survival. They were fighting for food and shelter.
“Stop the oppression”, they yelled, “Nature made us just as nature made you. We deserve to live”.
Unyielding to their plea, they were slapped to death.
“Bloody mosquitoes!”,the human shook his head.

She never understood why the world hated her parents.
Why people looked at them with judgement written on their faces.
When her classmates jeered at her, “Your daddies aren’t men enough to love a girl”, she knew they were wrong.
They loved her. Loved her so much.

The sexiest thing about a man

It’s not one. It’s many. Too many.

It’s those 3 Am phone calls, you huddled under a blanket, your heart beating wildly, your eyes sparkling and your cheeks flushed. It’s when he talks about love, life, death, your mother’s pudding, his father’s first car, your favorite colour and why he loves rainbows so much. It’s the alluring lilt in his voice and the matching octave of yours. It’s the sarcasm that makes you snort and the quick wit that makes you laugh. It’s the approval in his tone when he knows Coldplay is a common friend, it’s the delight you hear when you say you worship Eminem. It’s how he takes your breath away with words that paint a picture of a world you didn’t know existed. It’s that moment when you’re about to  hang up, there’s a pregnant pause, and he says ” I’m gonna miss you so bad!”, making you wonder if you’re the luckiest person alive.

It’s the sweat stained face and those mad eyes alight with excitement when he plays his favorite sport. It’s how he comes alive on the ground, swearing and screaming. It’s the bulging nerves on his calves, the powerful strokes of his hand. It’s the raw passion he exudes. It’s the way he lifts you up and twirls you around, grinning from ear to ear, after a satisfying game. It’s the way he shouts at his favorite match. It’s how he grips your hand when his team is about to win .It’s how he runs to you, to show you first, the shirt his favorite player signed.

It’s those heated arguements he has with his father about politics. It’s the way he sits on the kitchen stool, peeling potatoes for his mother. It’s when he invites you to have lunch with his family, the way he squeezes your hand tightly when his mother gives you a once over.

It’s the glitter in his eyes when he talks about his dreams. It’s that moment when he makes your heart skip a beat as you realize his plans for the future include you. It’s the way he runs his hand through his hair in frustration as he finishes late night assignments. It’s the  expectation in his eyes as you unwrap his first gift. It’s when he takes you on his bike for the first time, your arms wrapped securely about him. It’s when he tells you that you’re the first girl to ride with him.

It’s the teary phone call after your fight. It’s the fact that he’s always the first one to apologise. It’s the pillow fights he initiates. It’s the lazy afternoons spent in front of the TV watching re runs of Friends. It’s the way he ruffles your messy hair. It’s the smile on his face when you roam about the house in his shirt. Sometimes it’s his jaw hitting the floor, when you turn up at the fanciest restaurant in your sexiest black dress. It’s how his eyes never leave you. But most times it’s the way he looks at you, on your bad hair days, when you don’t want to change out of your jammies.

It’s when he suddenly blurts out, “I love you”. It’s the look of astonishment when you say it back. It’s the way he kisses you before he goes to work. It’s the resignation in his eyes when he knows you are PMSing. It’s the way his face turns red when he sees you talking to an old flame. It’s those intense fights. It’s the fact that he’s the only person who knows exactly how to hurt you, yet he’s the only one who can wipe your tears away. It’s the love and hope sparkling in his eyes as he goes down on his knee. It’s the unadulterated joy he radiates when you say ‘Yes’. It’s the way he takes you in his arms as your father gives you away. It’s the way he dances with you when your favorite jam comes on VH1.

It’s how he sometimes lets you pay the bills. It’s waking up next to him every morning. It’s not just those nights when he thrills you in bed. It’s those nights when he covers you up in blankets when you’ve crashed on the couch, too tired to change out of your work clothes, glasses and laptop askew. It’s the mornings after, when he surprises you with half burnt toast and orange juice. It’s how he starts and finishes sentences with your name while talking to his friends.

It’s how he cries when he sees his new born son. It’s his face when he changes your baby’s diaper. It’s when he teaches his little boy how to cycle. It’s his fascination with feeding bottles and cribs. It’s the murderous glance he spares to your daughter’s suitors. It’s his pride when he talks about his children. It’s the days he feels his lowest because his children had to be spanked. It’s how his eyes shine when his daughter graduates, when his son makes the school varsity.

It’s those nights when, after washing the dishes and putting the children to bed, you sit on the balcony feeling middle aged, wrinkled and unattractive, you find him staring at you like you’re all his dreams come true.

It’s the fact that he is messy and goofy. That he never charges his phone That he cannot remember anniversaries if his life depended on it. That he never shaves and it drives you mad. It’s the fact he offers all of himself to you.

The sexiest thing about a man has nothing to do with his body.

The sexiest thing about a man is his ability to fall utterly, completely, excruciatingly and frustratingly in love with you.